Chapter 11

With Dick gone, Sue decided to have dinner by herself in their suite. The meal was brought up by a little Irish redhead about 18 years old who looked exhausted -- almost as if she'd had no sleep for a couple of days. Sue felt a trifle guilty about causing extra work for the poor girl and decided to make sure that Dick gave her an extra large tip when they left. She ate the solitary meal then changed into a long powder- blue nylon gown and a blue lace peignoir. The feeling of nylon against her bare skin was wickedly exciting; she wished Dick were here.

She had sat down at the window writing desk and had begun writing a long chatty letter to Marylou when there was a knock on the door. "Come in," she called, thinking it was the maid returning for the dinner dishes.

"Good evening, my dear," Lord Medwell said, coming in and closing the door behind him. He stood there for a moment, staring appreciatively at her gown, then carried a large manila envelope to the table in front of the fireplace.

She felt the first discordant notes of uneasiness run through her mind. Lord Medwell had walked in as though he owned the place. He had looked at her in an unmistakable superior manner. Vaguely she felt that it was not right that he should be in a closed room with her when her husband was absent, especially with her dressed as revealingly as she was.

"Writing letters, I see," he said, quite unnecessarily.

"Yes. To a few friends back home. Mother. Cousin... you know."

Lord Medwell moved over right next to her writing table. His bold eyes fastened on her gown which was open enough to see the first proud swelling promise of her breasts. Blushing furiously, she nervously put her hand up there and fumbled the peignoir's button in an effort to close it.

"That really isn't necessary, my dear. You have charming breasts. There's no need to hide them."

"Lord Medwell! Please!" Sue was shocked. She sputtered almost incoherently when she was his leering expression. "I think, sir, you had better leave. As you know, my husband isn't here."

Lord Medwell's derisive laughter cut into her like a whip. Then his expression became coldly cruel. "Leave? Leave! I have no intention of leaving until I get what I came for." He boldly placed his blue-veined, age-spotted hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

Suddenly Sue was frightened, really frightened. Lord Medwell must be a madman! He was looking in ill-concealed lust at her breasts and at her pelvic area. "I... I... you really must go, Lord Medwell." She stood and backed nervously away from him. His eyes were like prison yard searchlights moving up and down the length of her figure. They came to rest on a spot just below her navel -- that slightly protruding spot marking her mound of Venus.

"You are quite beautiful, my dear," he said.

"Please leave."

His face suddenly became contorted in something akin to hate, and his voice was tight in anger. "Don't be impertinent! I said I would not go until I got what I came for."

Sue walked to the door and opened it. "Get out," she said, trying to keep her composure.

"Close the door," he demanded.

"Get out, or I shall scream."

"You may scream all you wish, but it will be of no avail. No one will hear you; the servants are gone. We are alone in the castle."

Feeling a combination of embarrassment, anger, and fear, Sue screamed and then yelled, "Help." The echoes resounded throughout the deserted hallways, "... help... help... help." Her own voice was mocking her.

"Now that we have that silly bit of amateur theatrics out of our system, I want to show you something. Take a look at the little gift I've brought you. There, on the table... in the envelope."

"I'm not leaving this door. You make a move toward me and I'll run."

"I have no doubt that you could outrun me. It would be the most foolish thing you have done in your life, however. Take a look in the envelope. I give you my word of honor... as a gentleman... that I will not move from this spot."

Anything to get rid of this maniac, Sue thought. She sidled over from the door toward the table, watching him closely for any movement. He merely smiled in vast amusement at her precautions. He seemed to be holding his breath, and his eyes had grown to enormous size as he watched her unfasten the clasp on the envelope.

Sue didn't relax her vigilance; she riveted her eyes on him as she withdrew the contents. She could tell by the feel that they were photographs. She made one rapid glance down at the top one, and then room began swirling around her. She heard his satanic laughter burst out, and he sat down in the chair, laughing uproariously at her stunned and disbelieving expression.

"Oh," he gasped, "if you could only see you face, my dear. Divine! Absolutely fantastic! Almost as if you had suddenly stumbled upon Jack the Ripper in the darkness."

Sue gazed down in horrified disbelief. It was a photograph of herself. Not her as she saw herself each morning in the mirror, but a photograph of a totally alien her -- wantonly smiling as she sucked away on Lord Medwell's sausagelike cock. Her lips were grotesquely pouting around the instrument, but it was her expression that was the most astonishing thing about the picture. It was obvious to anyone -- even herself! -- that she was blissfully and erotically enjoying what she was doing. Her hands were clearly shown; one was cradling his testicles as though she were weighing them, the other had two fingers wormed deep into his open rectum.

Sue's legs failed her. She was forced to steady herself on the back of a chair and then sink slowly into it. She continued to stare at the picture. Finally she closed her eyes and moaned, "Oh, my God!"

Lord Medwell continued to cackle. He choked, then coughed and wheezed. "You may like to know, my dear, that no one had to tell you a thing. I have never known a more apt pupil, one who picked it up so rapidly -- within seconds, so to speak. You were born to bring pleasure to a man... and you don't have the intelligence to realize it. Pure womanly instinct." He sighed. "But really, you should look at the others."

Fear, almost wishing that God would strike her blind, Sue turned to the next photograph. She blinked and the hot tears began streaming down her face. This picture showed her with legs spread wide apart and Lord Medwell's head buried in her vaginal crevice. Her tongue was hanging laxly out of the corner of her mouth and her eyes were rolled back in her head. Shown clearly were her taut stomach muscles and flexed buttocks, and her fingernails clawing a bloody trail of lust down his back. Her face was smeared with what could only be cum; it glistened all over her neck, and a huge puddle of it could be seen alongside her shoulders on the rumpled sheet. As she gazed through watery eyes at the photograph, it was all coming back to her now. The dream! It hadn't been a dream, alter all. She remembered the moment; in the dream it had been so wonderful to have her husband doing that to her.

She realized that Lord Medwell had become silent. He merely stared at her, and his expression was once again one of anger... and something else.

He didn't make a command, but she turned to the next photograph... already sure of what she would see. It was a closeup of Lord Medwell's cock in the process of being jammed into her vagina. What made the picture so unbelievably horrible again was the sheer expression of delight and impatient lust on her face. She thought dully: It didn't hurt at all when he did that; it was wonderful. I remember the sensation now. Beautiful. But I thought it was my husband making love to me... not someone using me as a ploy, an insensitive whore. She suddenly realized that no one seeing the photograph would ever think of her being an "insensitive" whore. A "whore," yes. "Insensitive," never! Not with that gloating sensual expression on her face, not with those fingernails digging deeply into his driving buttocks. No, if anything, she was a very "sensitive" whore, one who was enjoying the fucking of her life.

The next, as she was pretty sure it would, showed Morgan with his stubby little cock in the process of sodomizing her. Again the photographer had masterfully focused on her expression. She was the personification of wantonness. The hang of the taut breasts like ripe fruit about to drop from a tree, the tendons of her neck, the muscles of her inner thighs, the deep indentations created by the eager flexing of the anal muscles... all were clear indications that she was within seconds of obtaining an orgasm.

It was all too much to bear, much less understand. Her dignity crushed, sobs wracked her body and each breath was a shuddering one. She had never been so mortified, so humiliated, so ashamed in her life. The photographs, no matter how they had come to be taken, gave Sue an insight to that darker being within her whose existence she had never known or even suspected.

Lord Medwell was no longer amused; he stalked angrily toward the door and closed it. He stood there, impatiently rocking back and forth, glaring at her. "Whimper all you want, slut. Cry your heart out. It makes no difference. Your precious husband shall see these when he returns from the hunt tonight. And in tomorrow's post, an envelope identical to the one I gave you will be transmitted to your mother, to your local police authorities, and to..." He took his hand from behind his back and held out Sue's blue address book. He grinned evilly "... every name in this book."

She screamed and leaped toward him; she was rewarded by a vicious backhand in the face that sent her sprawling to the rug. In falling, her peignoir ripped; her gown slithered up to her waist, where the full ripeness of her upper thighs and buttocks were fully visible to Lord Medwell's cruelly glinting eyes. "You beast you, you filthy beast," she sobbed.

"My dear young lady. These photographs are not of a 'filthy beast'... but of a common street whore sucking, being sucked, being, if you'll pardon the Saxon expression, 'fucked'... and being sodomized. Oh, how she loves it all. Note the enjoyment upon her face. How amusing it will be when your mother and all of your little friends and relatives see what a happy honeymoon you're enjoying."

"What is it you want?" she gasped, feeling horror and sickness suddenly wash over her like an unrelenting tide of despair.

"That's hardly the question you want to ask, is it? What you really want to know is: 'How do I get those photographs back?' "

Sue looked up from the floor. She could see the bulge growing in his trousers as he gazed at her uncovered body. She made a futile attempt to pull her gown down. A part of her mind was screaming like a frightened caged animal, "... help me, please, someone... help me." Yet she knew there would be no help. No help from the local police, and certainly none from Dick. If Dick ever saw the photographs, he would leave her in an instant. With a sudden caving in of her spirit, she asked in a barely audible voice, "What do... I have to do... to get them back?"

Lord Medwell smiled. "Excellent, my dear. You are, as I said before, a quick study -- a fast learner." He picked up the envelope and withdrew the first one. He rolled his eyes theatrically. "Oh, yes! I remember it well. It was delightful; you showed such tremendous talent for it." He looked as if he were thinking, then nodded his head. "That's it! That seems fair enough. For each photographic scene you recreate, I shall return a picture."

As she realized what he was asking, Sue suddenly felt a painful spasm in her stomach; she was sure she was going to vomit. Oh, God! How could any human being so degrade another, so debase another as he was trying to do to her. She wouldn't do it... she couldn't do it. She shook her head and mumbled, "I won't." Then she looked up in tearful pleading, "Please, Lord Medwell. Please have mercy -- pity. Give me the photographs. Please!" The last was a half hysterical scream.

"Of course, my child. They shall be returned to you... upon my word as a gentleman... just as soon as you fulfill the conditions of our contract."

Sobbing incoherently, Sue shook her head violently from side to side, "I can't. I just can't do that!"

Lord Medwell clapped his hands together in dismissal. "Then we really have nothing more to discuss. The photographs will be mailed tomorrow." He turned to the door.

"Please. Have pity." Sue screamed.

Lord Medwell did not answer. He opened the door and stood in the archway. "Good evening, Madam. And sweet dreams." He started to close the door.

"No," Sue shouted in desperation and fear. "No... come back." Her body was wracked with shuddering sobs of distress, as she buried her face in her hands.

"You'll do it?" Lord Medwell's voice was cold, inflexible.

"Oh, God forgive me... yes!" she screamed. "Yes... you, you beast... I'll do it!"

Lord Medwell closed the door behind him. His face was red in rage and his voice tight in poorly suppressed fury. "Watch your language, slut, or I shall have second thoughts about my generosity. As it is, you will pay a little extra for your persistent use of the odious term."

Abjectly, knowing she must be on his good side to get the photographs, Sue said, "I'm sorry."

"That's better, immensely better. Now my dear, take your hands away from your pretty little face. Do it... now!" The last word cracked like a whip and Sue's body jumped as though struck.

Lord Medwell handed down photograph number one. "Shall we begin? Recreate this... and you may have the picture to do as you wish. Burn it, tear it, or keep it among your treasured souvenirs. Look at it closely."

"Oh, God..." she moaned in shame and distress.

"Take off your clothes." It was an order, there could be no disobedience. She rose, silent, unable to speak for the humiliation she felt. The man's eyes burned huge holes in her breasts and pelvic area. When she hesitated -- hoping against hope that he would change his mind, that this was really a monstrous nightmare from which she would soon awaken -- Lord Medwell narrowed his eyes in warning. Quickly then, she took off the peignoir. Then, eyes closed and unable to look at him, she slowly lifted the gown over her head to stand naked and trembling abjectly before him.

"Beautiful, just beautiful. Now stand there until I get my clothes off." For the first time the old man began showing real signs of impatience. She watched him, horrified, as he removed his coat, tie, shirt and undershirt, and then unbuttoned his trousers and dropped his pants and drawers to the floor. A moment later, he stood before her with only his shoes and socks and garters on. His huge white erection grew like a poisonous toadstool in the grey tundra of his pubic hair. "All right, my dear. Picture number one: On your hands and knees... crawl to me."

It was going to be even worse than she had thought. She kept saying over and over again in her mind, "This can't be happening to me; this can't be happening to me." Lord Medwell was a hideous creature seen in some nightmare as he leered down at her with those horribly hot and unbending eyes. She would die before she did this. "No... I can't." She clenched her eyes tightly shut as if she could erase the scene from memory and make it cease to exist.

"If I am forced to put my clothes on, I swear to you that nothing -- absolutely nothing you could offer, no matter how far you crawled -- could obtain the release of these photographs. Do you quite understand?"

"Please?" she pleaded, looking at him once more in supplication. "Please..."

Lord Medwell merely stroked his waiting cock and answered. "I'm waiting. On your hands and knees. Quickly!"

It was hopeless, she knew it was hopeless. All was lost. It didn't matter. She would die of humiliation if the photographs were released; she would die of humiliation if she were to undergo the cruel debasement in order to retrieve them. It didn't matter except... the pictures would kill Dick's love for her, would destroy her mother, would be traumatic for all her friends receiving copies. This way only she would be hurt. Slowly, she sank to her knees and began crawling like a wounded animal toward his naked loins.

Now all she could think about was getting the execution of her soul and dignity over with as rapidly as possible. Lord Medwell misunderstood her suddenly speeded up crawling. "Don't be so eager, my dear. You are acting as hungry as you were last night." He laughed and backed away when she reached him. She crawled forward two more paces, then reached up for his cock. He backed away again, laughing at her. "Come on," he coaxed, and moved back until his hips were against the bed. He sat down and spread his legs. Sue could see his testicles dangling like ripe, flesh colored fruit above the brown puckered opening of his anus. His cock stuck up in the air at an outrageous angle, and occasionally it throbbed and jerked spasmodically.

Sue crawled up on the platform and to the bedside, no longer conscious of moving or acting. She was merely an automated robot, incapable of independent action or thought.

"Now, my dear. For the first photograph...

She shuddered in revulsion as she bent forward to pay unwilling homage to the waving, purple and white penis. She could see angry red veins running up its white and blue trunk and the throbbing purple hooded head already seeping a white thick fluid. His balls were high and tight now in his purple scrotum; his gray pubic hair lay like white foliage struck down by hail. Inside her mind a voice kept crying out, "Ask him once again."; but she refused to heed it, knowing instinctively that it would be useless. Besides, she knew her abject begging and pleading only added to his sadistic enjoyment. She closed her eyes and swallowed, muttering a silent prayer, "Dick... forgive me. Please forgive me, darling, for what I'm about to do."

Her lips closed wetly about the smooth rubbery head. Lord Medwell groaned. His eyes were bulging in unconcealed lust as he stared down at the top of her blonde young head. The knob of his cock tasted like sweet soap, the viscous fluid seeping from the glans was slightly saline with a faint odor. He moved the rod in her mouth. "Suck a little, nibble a little, my dear."

"I was dreaming... I am dreaming... I am dreaming," Sue said to herself with each thrust of the hated cock in and out of her mouth. She had dreamed of doing this last night; it had been terribly exciting, terribly enjoyable... but that had been with her husband! She felt nothing now but despair and humiliation. She followed his directions, mindlessly licking and nibbling and tongue teasing as he ordered. She was sure that it would never end, but it did with Lord Medwell's saying, "That's enough for now."

She removed her mouth from his cock. She kneeled there, head down in subjugation, waiting for whatever cruelty was to come next.

"Get on the bed," Lord Medwell said. Spiritlessly, Sue did as she was instructed. She lay there, legs slightly apart, staring up at the ceiling -- not making any effort to cover her body. Lord Medwell gazed speculatively down at her. "You aren't showing nearly enough enthusiasm, my dear. Perhaps we should turn that little furnace of yours up higher." He walked away from the bed and came back a moment later with the second photograph. He held it before her yes. "Shall we try for number two?" When Sue did not answer, he slapped her with the picture. The sharp edge of the paper cut the underside of her chin, drawing a thin line of blood. "Answer me," he snarled.

"Yes..."

"Yes, what, you slut?"

"Yes. Let us do number two."

"There is a vulgarism -- American, I believe called 'eating pussy'. Some of our lesser educated Englishmen call it 'cunt scouring'. Now you must ask me in a nice way -- using either of those vulgarisms."

Sue closed her eyes and sighed. "I want you to eat pussy."

"Whose?"

"Mine."

"Say it then."

She sighed again and said, without any inflection at all, "I want you to eat my pussy."

"Please?"

"Please..."